


Watchers

by AParisianShakespearean



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Hair-pulling, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Smut, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29833929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: Fenris and Ailsa have always watched one another. That carries to the bedroom.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	Watchers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarsAndSkies (LittleMissWrath)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissWrath/gifts).



There’s not so much even a searing kiss before he tells her “I want to watch.” When it comes to kisses, Fenris knows when to save them until she’s aching.

She’s bare save one of his white tunics that was carelessly left in her room. It's a remnant of another night together, and she carries it to this one. He wears nothing save a pair of breeches, and Ailsa lightly outlines the white, tattooed marks against his chest in reverence. He grips her hips, pressing their bodies closer, and he whispers it again.

_I want to watch._

He hardens against her. He wants to watch and she’ll be the willing giver. She wants to be fucked with only his eyes.

Under his gaze she unbuttons her shirt. She shrugs her shoulders and it falls to the floor, Fenris guiding her to the bed. Once the back of her legs hit the mattress, she sits and sprawls on the bed with her feet planted on either side of her. Her blonde hair spills against the red cover and it makes her light blue eyes vibrant against the contrast. Near her, Fenris watches with controlled and careful restraint, hands shoved in his pockets. Only his green eyes betray his lust. She can barely see the green. He stands in tribute, already so enamored with her. Yet he doesn’t touch himself, not yet. He prefers to draw the moment out.

She spreads her legs, shivering at the feel of cool air against her. “You can spread further,” he says.

She gulps. She does. She basks as he watches, waits patiently for further instruction.

He nods. Her fingers tease her breasts and nipples before pinching and squeezing, yet before one hand can slip between her opened legs and touch herself, he says “not there yet.”

He instructs. "Touch your breasts and your body more." She feels herself pool and leak against the sheets, and yet still she doesn’t even so much as lightly circle her clit. For him she pretends her hands are his hands, gliding and skimming down her body and thighs. She draws and outlines, kneads flesh. She pleads and calls his name. A giver tonight, always, he nods. At his permission, it’s just a small caress at first, merely a ghost of a touch, yet she’s sensitive and living a thousand times more deeply under his eyes. Each touch is magnified, each frisson of pleasure more powerful. She wishes she had him to watch, touching himself as he admires her. Yet still, he doesn’t touch himself. He doesn't even so much as lightly palm himself through his breeches when she increases her pace and inserts a finger inside herself. It's as if he can get off through only watching.

He leaned against the doorway to her room so casually before, yet in an instant he’s by her side and hovering over her opened legs. He's nimble and quick, pushes her hand away and snatches it in his. He even stops her from revering her body with her other hand, as he pushes it away too and pins it over her head in a silent order to stop. He likes the arousal off her finger, his mouth warm while his other hand makes the same patterns across her body she did earlier. “Touch yourself again,” he says, still holding her other hand. She does. She draws circles against herself as she watches him push down his breeches and takes his cock in his hand.

His slow to jerk himself as their eyes meet, she more eager to make herself come. He moans and calls her name in his rich voice, and she tells him she’s coming, as if the movements of her hips and louder moans are not enough. She can make herself come, make herself feel good and bask for him, yet once again, he pries her hands away. Whatever protests she may have are lost when he takes her hips in his hands and brings her forward to the edge of the bed. His cock replaces her hands against her clit, not inside her yet but against her heat and core, coating himself with her wet arousal. Standing at the edge of the bed, open for him, he pushes himself inside her to the hilt. She’s fucked and she’s filled and he tells her she’s good, they are good. They are hips meeting each other, sounds of slickness and bodies meeting. They are cries of each other's names, praises for each other. She could come from his voice alone.

He stops and he tells her, turn around. The room fills with a loud slap as his palm meets her flesh. She laughs and he spanks her again on her other cheek, rubbing soft and warm circles after to soothe as he readies himself at her entrance. He’s inside her again, moves with ardor and still she can feel him watch her, even like this. Her long hair tumbles down her back and he grabs and tugs sharply, gripping from the root. She touches herself again, sticking her hand between her as she presses her face against the mattress. Slight pain mingles with budding warmth, and she is close, closer still….

It’s not her hand but his hand draws her end, once more pushing her fingers away to replace them with his own. He’s nimble against her clit, rubbing and pressing. She comes sharply and inelegantly, fucking herself on his cock when his movements stop to feel her orgasm convulse around him. It’s enough for him. He throbs and he comes inside her, Ailsa taking all of his end, all of what he gives. Another spank to give her praise, though lighter this time. They both chuckle.

Smiling still, she moves to her side as he plops beside her. Their afterglow is more watching He caresses her cheeks, strokes her hair in contrast to his early needy tug. Traces of him are against her inner thighs. He may no longer be inside her and yet she’s still full, fuller still when he kisses her and it sears. More kisses follow, more searing presses in their wake as their bodies join. 

“I’ve always loved to watch you,” Fenris says. “Since the day we met.”

“Don’t ever stop watching.”

His answer is another kiss.


End file.
